


I've Been Locked Out of Heaven

by orphan_account



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Chicago Blackhawks, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 22:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1958409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the lockout, Tyler managed to fall in, but unfortunately not out of, love. The worst part is, Patrick's getting married. To someone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Been Locked Out of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Featuring not-NHL!Benn! Also, if you see your name, please turn back.

His body is still sore from practice as Tyler pulls his keys out of his pocket. They were a few weeks from the playoffs and practices were going into overdrive. He slides the smallest into his mail box and pulls out a singular, thick square envelope. There’s only a singular name in the return address and it makes his heart stop for a second. P. Kane. 

 

Tyler frantically sticks the letter in his back pocket and hurries past the doorman up to his apartment. He tosses his bag aside and kicks his shoes off by the door. It’s a cool night in Dallas and he opens the windows to push the mustiness out. Cars whiz by as he sits on the couch, pulling the letter back out.

 

He runs his thumb over Patrick’s scratchy writing, the way he looped his Y’s and the way his T’s never quite connected. Tyler had missed that scrawl; it had been almost a year since he had gotten a letter from Pat. He rips open the envelope carefully and pulls out the various cards inside. It takes Tyler a second to realize what he’s seeing. His heart nearly stops again but, this time, it’s for all the wrong reasons.

 

Patrick Kane and Jonathan Toews cordially invite you to attend their wedding. Wedding. Patrick was getting married.

 

Tyler checks the date. July 2nd. Of course. Right between Canada Day and the 4th of July.

 

He whips his phone out and pulls up Patrick’s phone number. Tyler knows he should really call him but all he can do is type out, _What the fuck, dude?_

 

It’s sad that he sits there for almost 10 minutes, checking and rechecking his phone, until it finally lights up and starts buzzing. Tyler debates on just declining the call, but finally swipes it over and mutters, “Yeah?”

 

“Hey Segs.”

 

“Hey yourself,” he says, trying not to sound bitter and annoyed but knows Patrick can see right through him. He always could.

 

Patrick sighs on the other side. His voice is quiet as he says, “Segs, I know you’re pissed, you can just say it.” Tyler wonders if Jonathan is sitting next to him. Or if he’s in the same room. Or if he’s even home. Are they even living together? He doesn’t really want to know or really cares. “Tyler?”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me? You’re getting fucking married and you didn’t even tell me? I thought we were friends.” Yep, there’s the bitterness. He knew Pat had gotten together with Jonathan after they won the Cup last year and was pretty over the moon about him, but they kept their relationship on the down low. But nothing Patrick had ever said about Jonny had ever mentioned _marriage_ material.

 

“It wasn’t really a planned thing. Jonny asked me a couple months ago. It’s going to be a quick wedding, nothing too big. More of a formality for Jonny’s maman,” Patrick says, almost nonchalantly. Now wasn’t the time for relaxing. Tyler certainly wasn’t.

 

“Yeah, well you still should’ve told me. Asshole.” It comes out more pissed off than he really means it, but Tyler can’t help it. He had always hoped that the whole ‘Jonny’ thing wouldn’t last, let alone lead to something like this.

 

He can hear Patrick breathing heavily on the other side of the phone. His voice is soft and slightly broken and very much unlike anything Tyler’s ever heard out of Pat’s mouth as he says, “I apologize. Really.”

 

Tyler knows he should chose his words carefully, but all of that was thrown out the window when Pat decided that he was going to get fucking married. “You’re not sorry,” Tyler says. “You’re never sorry for anything you do. That’s part of why I love you.” His own voice catches at the end and he’s about to end this fucking call and end this conversation.

 

“Tyler, don’t start this again.”

 

“I’ll start it whenever I fucking want to.” He knows he sounds like a child, but that’s what Patrick always saw him as, right? Tyler might as well live up to it. “I missed you, you know that? You stopped calling.”

 

Patrick pauses once more and Tyler starts ticking seconds off in his head. Part of being an athlete was being able to know exactly how much time had passed and how many seconds were left in a game. He’s up to 46 seconds before Pat finally sighs and mutters, “Yeah, well, I got busy.”

 

“You shouldn’t be too busy fucking your _fiancé_ to call your damn friends.”

 

“Can you shut the fuck up for once and be _happy_ for me?” Patrick spits, anger finally spilling into their conversation on both sides. “I’m getting fucking married and you can’t even say congratulations? Now isn’t the time to be petty about shit that has happened between us, Ty. I’m shit for not having called, I know that. But this is a big thing to me and I’d be happy if you could come and share it with us.”

 

“With you and Jonny.”

 

“Yes. I know shit went down between you and me but, please, _you_ said you were okay with being friends. Show me that now.”

 

Tyler’s voice comes out sad and broken as he lays down on the couch. “We both said a lot of things, didn’t we?” A sigh is the only answer he gets. His head is pounding and his heart feels like it’s shattering into a million pieces as he whispers, “You’ve barely been together for a year and a half. Do you even love him?”

 

“I love him more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

 

_More than you_. That’s all he hears right there. Any hope he had, any glimmer that was still left in his body drove straight into his spine, burying itself there one last time. Tyler clenches his jaw to keep it from shaking and says, voice strong, “I don’t think I should go.”

 

“Ty, please. I want you there. I need you there.”

 

_You haven’t needed me for over a year._ That’s what he really wants to say but knows it would just start the same argument over and over again. They’ve had this conversation more times than Tyler can count and it always ends the same for him. He will always be next in line.

 

“Don’t make me ask you again, Ty. Please.”

 

“Then stop calling me Ty. You haven’t called me Ty since you left me in Switzerland.” He’s slipping down that road again and tries to pull himself back up. Tyler’s ceiling is spinning right now and he feels like he’s going to throw up. “You left me there and didn’t even say goodbye. I had to find out from fucking Bergeron that you were banging your fucking Captain. You fucking broke my heart, Patrick. So don’t try and use ‘please’ with me.”

 

“You were just a kid. You were 20 years old. You didn’t even know what you wanted at the time. I was a mess too. It just wasn’t meant to work.”

 

Tyler sits up, body clenched. “Don’t tell me what I did or didn’t want. I knew I wanted you and that’s all that should’ve fucking mattered. I’m not a fucking child, stop treating me like one!” he shouts, voice echoing in his empty apartment. “The least you could do was own up to it. You never even said you were sorry. You told me that you loved me once too. Why should I believe that you actually want to marry Jonathan?” His voice is quiet this time, eyes set hard but chin wavering in anticipation for an answer he doesn’t really want to hear.

 

“I did. Segs, you’re an amazing dude and you’re right, I _was_ an asshole to you. I may have loved you but I was never in love with you. I wasn’t clear when we got over there and it sucks that you got mixed up in shit that was over your head.”

 

“You _still_ haven’t said sorry.”

 

1 minute and 12 seconds later, Patrick finally just says blankly, “Come if you want. I’ll leave a place for you at a table either way. Good luck in playoffs.”

 

And then the phone beeps with the ended call.

 

All Tyler can do is sit there, clenching his phone in his hand, body numb. It’s late but it’s still another hour before he manages to peel himself off his couch and grab the bottle of rum off the top of his refrigerator. He sits back down and pulls the cork out and just blankly starts tipping it back.

 

Fucking Patrick. Every time he decided he wanted to walk in and out of his life, it always meant that Tyler got the shit end of the stick. Everybody had warned him not to get involved with Kane, but he didn’t listen. Of course he didn’t listen. That smile, that glint in his eyes, that dirty flow on the ice. All of it was intoxicating and Tyler always had an addictive personality.

 

But Tyler relished in every single second of it. It was a high that only love can produce. Their first night in Switzerland, they had gone out to explore the city after they got settled into their apartments. It was just the two of them, out in the darkness, the lights sparkling around them. They had stopped at a bar and had a couple drinks before hopping the fence into a park. A couple of jokes and play fights later, Tyler had found himself pinned under the older man, Patrick’s lips pressed drunkenly against his.

 

He could’ve sworn fucking fireworks went off.

 

All of his senses went into hyperdrive and suddenly Tyler had felt complete. He kissed Patrick back harder than he had ever before and it culminated in a sweaty slide of limbs at Patrick’s apartment.

 

They spent the lockout in hidden alleys, stolen kisses, and slick bodies. Tyler even left clothes over at Kaner’s apartment. He thought of the world back home and what it would be like post-lockout. Sure, Chicago and Boston were 984 miles apart but he could make it work if Patrick wanted to. He would do anything for him.

 

But then the lockout was ended. He got the call from management to pack his bags and get the next flight home. He raced to Patrick’s apartment and fished the spare keys out of his pocket. But the apartment was empty. No bags, no shirts left laying around, no note. Tyler spent the next two hours calling Patrick but his phone was off and every call went straight to voicemail. The flight home was the loneliest he’s ever felt.

 

Tyler tried to ignore all the whispers from the team about the rumors of Patrick and Jonathan together. Tried to ignore Patrick when they played games together. But then playoffs hit and it was unavoidable now.

 

“Segs, wait!” He had kept his head down and kept on walking. If Patrick could leave him in Switzerland, Tyler could leave him in the parking lot, right? But the moment Patrick had grabbed his arm, he couldn’t move another muscle. “Tyler, _I said wait._ ”

 

“What do you want.”

 

“I wanted to say hi. It’s been crazy with this shortened season and I haven’t gotten a chance to call you. How’s it going?”

 

He had spun around on Patrick, jaw tight. “How do you think it’s going? It fucking sucks. We’re down 3-2 against you and my team hates me. I’m fucking alone and don’t pretend you care now.” Tyler was here to play hockey, not get his heart fucking stomped on again. 

 

“Your team doesn’t hate you. You’re not alone, Segs.”

 

He just stood there until Patrick had let him go, sighing. “I’m going to fucking go now. See you next game, Kane.”

 

Game Six had came and went and there was Patrick, hoisting the Cup and the Conn Smythe. Tyler had stormed off into the locker room, heart crumbling for all the wrong reasons. Patrice had nudged him as they slowly got their gear off, disappointment heavy in the locker room, and muttered, “Sorry kid. Sorry you lost what you did.” He had looked up at Bergeron as the older man said quietly, “You’re an open book and an easy read at that. From what I’ve seen the rumors of Kane and Toews are true, but it seems like Toews isn’t the only heart Kane has.”

 

Tyler had slammed his gear into the bench and gritted out, “Well it doesn’t fucking matter now, does it?”

 

He had drank and partied his way through the next few weeks, until he got the call that he had been traded. Out of the blue, blindsided once again by the people who should’ve shown him loyalty. He had put everything into playing for the Bruins and now they were throwing him away to Dallas.

 

He felt like a lost little kid again, packing up his apartment, boxes everywhere. His mind was so scattered that he didn’t even realize his phone vibrating nonstop until he went to plug it in. 16 missed calls from Patrick. No voicemails. 1 text from him. _Call me now._

 

“You got traded.”

 

“I don’t need a fucking lecture from you, Kaner. This sucks enough as is.” He sat on his floor, eyes filling up. “I fucked up and they don’t even care about me. You get to do whatever you want and everybody loves you.” All Tyler had wanted to do was run forever and kick and hit and break as much as he could but knew that wouldn’t fix any of it. His voice was bitter and hurtful as he said, “I hate you.”

 

“You don’t hate me, Segs. You could never hate me.”

 

And that was the fucking problem. Even after Switzerland, even after the broken heart, even after he watched his hopes and dreams being lifted by Patrick on the ice, Tyler still couldn’t hate him. He wanted to with every bone in his body, but his heavy heart and his lost mind wouldn’t let him.

 

“Fuck you Kane. You still haven’t told me what you wanted. Are you just calling me to tell me that I got traded? I already fucking know that.”

 

There was a pause before Patrick whispered, “I wanted to know if you were okay. I know that this was a big blow to you and just wanted to make sure you had everything you needed.” It sounded as sincere as could be, but Tyler still didn’t feel like it was enough. “Segs?”

 

“Do you _think_ I’m okay?”

 

“I don’t know what to think. You haven’t talked to me since playoffs and even then you were ignoring me. I’m not sure what’s been going through your head. It’s clear that you’re having some issues. I was there before and after Madison.”

 

Tyler kicked a box across the room, and flopped down on his back. “You are such a fucking asshole. This isn’t about you. You fucking suck so much. I would’ve been fine if you had just stayed out of my life.” A single tear works its way down the side of his face. “To think I looked up to you.”

 

“We’ve both made mistakes but we also both know that wasn’t one of them.” Patrick’s voice turned serious then. “Segs, I know you’ve had it rough in Boston, especially this past year. I just want to make sure you know that Dallas is a fresh start. You need it. Don’t fuck up your chance by living in the past.”

 

Tyler had hung up then and thrown his phone. Hard, but not enough to break. Very similarly to him; he had been tossed around, both in love and in hockey, hard but not hard enough to break. He had gotten down to Dallas and finally found home. He had found glory and fans and a team that used him the way he should have been from the start. But, even in all that time, there was Patrick, in the back of his mind and front and center in his heart.

 

It had all be fine, the annoying twanging pain of love still flared up every once in a while, but now it was like a club to Tyler’s face.

 

Tyler’s so lost in his thoughts that he barely notices when he gets to the bottom of the bottle. His apartment spins as he tries to stand up, toppling over a table. He’s on the brink of wanting to scream and wanting to cry and ends up doing neither, just curling up on the floor of his bathroom to pass out.

 

He wakes up at a head-splitting 5am to violently puke right where he’s laying. The second time he actually makes it into the toilet. The third time he actually makes it into the living room before seeing the wedding invitation sitting on the floor, and has to race back to the bathroom.

 

The night floods back in like a horrible nightmare.

 

Tyler cries in the shower and cries as he’s making breakfast. He sets his eyes and mind hard as he goes to meet his trainer. He gets halfway through before vomiting in the gym trashcan. Luckily for him, Tyler makes it all the way through his workout before locking himself in a toilet stall to cry once more.

 

It’s all too much to handle but at least the playoffs are soon and that can give him a distraction once again.

 

The next month is a whirlwind. He buys a fucking house, Mike Modano’s mansion no less, they get knocked off the playoffs early, and he sits there watching the Western conference final while the Blackhawks lose to the Kings.

 

Tyler’s torn between feeling bad for Patrick and laughing hysterically when Tyler sees him crying on the ice. It’s not much retribution, there’s only about a month left til the wedding and he knows Patrick will be all smiles later, but for now, Tyler’s going to relish in the disappointment he knows Patrick is feeling right now.

 

He gets a text about 4 hours after the game that just says, _Hope you’re happy._

 

He types back quickly and insincerely, _Would it make you feel better if I said I didn’t care either way?_

 

_No. :(_

 

This time he actually does laugh. He might have a big ego, but it was nothing like Patrick’s. Patrick had to feel like everyone loved him all the time. He couldn’t deal with anyone telling him no, not even Tyler.

 

_Go home. Go to bed._ He texts back. He’s tired of having to deal with Patrick’s shit.

 

_Feels so empty without someone next to me._

 

Tyler turns his phone off as the next one pops up. _I’m lonely._ He doesn’t care what Patrick is, let alone lonely. He’s been lonely for so long that at least, for a while, Patrick knows what he’s feeling like.

 

The nights go by, ticking off one by one in his head as Tyler counts the days closer and closer to the wedding.

 

He’s sitting in his pool late in the night, exactly one week from the wedding, when he hears his phone vibrate. It was a hot and sleepless night, but he still couldn’t think of who would be calling him at almost 2 in the morning. He sighs when he sees Patrick’s name and picture flashed up on his phone. This time, he was smart enough to decline the call.

 

He stays there for a second before his phone begins vibrating again. Once more, Tyler declines the call. It’s barely 20 seconds later when the text pops up. _Pick up._

 

Tyler taps out quickly, _No, you’re drunk_. He pulls himself out of the pool, bare body dripping, and grabs his towel. The phone buzzes again but he waits until he gets into the house to check it. The air conditioning makes thin little bumps ghost across his skin. Tyler shakes water out of his hair and pulls shorts on. The couch sinks as he sits, lighting up his phone.

 

_I miss you._

 

That just wasn't fair. If any of this was a ploy to get Tyler to actually talk on the phone, it worked. Before he knows it, Tyler’s listening to the ringing. _Click_. “Tyler,” Patrick croons drunkenly, breath hot and heavy. “I knew you’d call.”

 

Tyler’s on the edge of insanity as he pleads, “Pat, please. Please just stop, I can’t handle this anymore. You tell me to get over you because you’re getting married in a week, but now you call me telling me you miss me?” His voice is shaking. “You can’t have us both, Kaner.”

 

“If I told you to come to Chicago, right now, you would, wouldn’t you?” Patrick slurs, voice dark. Tyler has to clench his teeth to keep his jaw from wavering. “I could make you do anything I want, couldn’t I?”

 

His voice is small as Tyler chokes out, “Please don’t ask me to. I couldn’t live with myself if you made me come back to you. Please don’t ruin my life any more than you already have.” He sounds like a scared little kid with too many skeletons in his closet. This just wasn't fair. “Please just let me go.”

 

“Let you go?” Patrick’s voice is mocking and almost spiteful. “I never had you. I never wanted to have you. Sure we fucked but I never wanted more than that. You’re the one who had to bring feelings into it. I fell apart and had nothing to distract me except you, Tyler. How you got sucked into it was your problem. You shouldn’t have fallen in love with someone who could never be in love with you.”

 

There’s a sharp pain in his chest that almost feels like a knife through the heart. Tyler blinks back tears as he stutters, “F-Fuck you, K-Kane.”

 

“Come to Chicago.”

 

No. This shouldn’t be happening. Patrick couldn’t do this. He can’t go to Chicago. But the demanding tone was there. Patrick never asked Tyler to do anything, he just told him; and Tyler never asked, “How high?” when Pat said, “Jump,” he just did it. It didn’t matter where he landed. “Patrick, please don’t-“

 

“I’m not going to tell you again.”

 

And then his phone beeps with an ended call. Tyler wants to scream, wants to fucking drown himself in his god damn swimming pool. But he can’t. He can’t because Patrick said Chicago and drowning himself would mean unfinished business. Tyler feel like a robot as he gathers his things, books the last seat on a 4am flight to Chicago, and drives to the airport, tears racing down his face.

 

Each city is more deserted than the last and Tyler manages to make it downtown in Chicago by 6:30. He presses the elevator button a good 13 times, after checking in with the front desk, with shaking hands. He’s going to pass out for sure, but Patrick’s floor comes quicker than he remembered. Tyler’s feet trip over one a noter as he staggers down the hallway.

 

He’s honestly not sure if he knocks or not, but Patrick opens the door either way. Tyler takes in the rumpled sheet clutched hastily around his waist, the pulled-on hair, the blown pupils, and the scratch marks quickly reddening on Patrick’s chest. “Segs, what are you doing here? It’s 6:30 in the fucking morning. The wedding isn’t for another 6 days,” he says quietly, voice hushed.

 

Tyler’s brain short-circuits. “Don’t you remember?”

 

“Remember _what_?”

 

His heart is going to break a rib or two with the way it’s beating right now. He looks confusedly around, panic beginning to boil in his blood. “You told me to come,” he says, “to Chicago last night. You were being an asshole. Told me…” Tyler’s not sure what Patrick had wanted last night with him once he did get to Chicago. But he kind of assumed…

 

Patrick rubs his eyes tiredly, muttering, “I still don’t understand why you came. If I was, why did you show up? I went out for my bachelor party with Shawzy, Sharpy, and Saad. They insisted on a two to one ratio of my drinks to theirs. I don’t remember anything past 10.”

 

Rage and disappointment at himself builds as Tyler spits, “I came because you fucking told me to, asshole. I asked you not to and you did anyway. Do you not fucking understand? Anything you tell me to do I have to do? I don’t know why, considering all I want to do is hate you but I can’t even do that.”

 

“Tyler, are you _crying_?”

 

He angrily wipes his face, just so mad at himself for letting it get to this point. He holds the door frame to stay upright gritting out, “You told me you never _wanted_ me. You told me I shouldn’t have fallen in love with someone who could never be in love with me. I know I’m just a stupid kid to you but that fucking _hurt_.”

 

“Segs, I-“

 

They both freeze when they hear Jonathan call out, voice echoing down the hallway, “Peeks, who’s there? You said you’d be back quick!”

 

Tyler’s face drops, legs struggling to keep from buckling. His voice is quiet as he breathes, “He doesn’t know, does he?”

 

Patrick doesn’t even answer him, just shuts the door in his face and clicks the lock shut. Tyler’s heart is pounding in his ears but he can still hear Patrick’s voice behind the door say, “Don’t worry Jonny, it was nobody important.”

 

He stands there for what feels like forever before numbly going back down in the elevator. Tyler’s not really sure how he let himself do this again. How he could’ve believed that _this_ time, it would be different. Patrick was never loved him the way Tyler needed him to love him, that much was for certain, and was never going to be able to. All Tyler had been to him was a plaything. Something to fill the nights until Patrick’s captain filled the space in his heart.

 

The L ride back to the airport creeps along like a snail, his hat pulled low over his eyes, body tucked in tight. The lady at the front desk of the airport seems to recognize his name, but doesn’t mention it. Just puts him on the first flight home and sends him on his way.

 

Sometimes, it feels good to have a nice big house to himself, but right now it feels like an empty tomb to hold his heart.

 

Every room held a different emotion, ranging from disgust in his dining room, to anger in his gym, to lust and loneliness in his bedroom. His bed feels as empty as his heart does, everything just swirling around him in a hurricane of broken dreams. He’s stupid to think that anyone could have ever loved him.

 

Tyler stews and steams for 5 days, toying with the idea of going to the wedding anyway, just as a “Fuck you,” to Patrick. But that wasn’t going to be enough. Patrick had chewed him, and their friendship, up and spit him back out in the gutter.

 

And Jonathan didn’t even know.

 

He ends up booking a ticket to Chicago out of spite. As a “Fuck you, I still showed up” move and partially because he has to tell Jonathan. Tyler’s stopped caring how it’s going to make him look or what the implications will be like for Patrick. Patrick had made him look like an asshole, leaving him out in the hallway in Chicago, now it was his turn.

 

The sock drawer finally stops rattling as he pulls out the small box he’s had since Switzerland. It takes all his strength not to open it and obsess over the contents. Tyler knows it’ll be the perfect slap in the face, as well as finally getting it out of his mind and his life.

 

The only things he has in his suit pockets are his wallet, the box, the invitation, and his plane tickets. No bag, no suitcase, no nothing. He wasn’t going to stay any longer than he had to. Tyler was going to get in and get out.

 

Tyler keeps his head down and his eyes sharp as he heads to Chicago and the large banquet hall that Patrick and Jonathan have rented out. It’s decked out in hockey paraphernalia and mementos from their various family. He sees a great deal of people he knows, both friends and hockey players. He smiles at the people he should and greets a couple with all the formalities that the situation called for.

 

But, after that, he nudges past the other people in the building and slips down the back hallway. Of course Patrick had lied when he said this wasn’t a big thing. There was at least 400 people in the main hall. But, luckily, the hallway was nearly empty. Tyler freezes when he hears the voices of Patrick’s sisters, but hurries along when he realizes it’s from behind one of the doors. He gets to the end of the hallway and hopes that Patrick’s actually the one in there, instead of Jonathan.

 

He was right. There stands Patrick, in a suit that actually fit, hair trimmed neatly, boutonniere pinned proudly on the grey lapel. Patrick startles a little, saying, “Segs, what are you-“

 

“I’m going to tell Jonny.”

 

The joyous glow in Pat’s face drains slowly out, being replaced by panicked confusion. “Please, you can’t. I’m getting married in half an hour.” Tyler kind of likes the role reversal, Patrick begging him for any kind of control. But this was his time, his turn.

 

“You didn’t seem to care about getting married last week when you called me, drunk out of your mind. If I’m going to be a homewrecker, I’m going to do it on my own terms. I’m going to ruin your life just like you ruined mine.” Any fear he had coming into this had been blown out the window. Tyler could do this.

 

He’s been waiting for Patrick to start yelling at him, hit him even. Anything would be more satisfying than Patrick just slumping quietly on the floor, hands in his lap. Tyler crouches down in front of him and can almost feel the shake of his shoulders. Pat’s voice comes out small and meek as he murmurs, “Please, I know what I said and did was wrong, but this isn’t the answer. We can’t keep trying to out do each other in how much pain we can cause. I know I’ve been responsible for most of it.

 

Tyler rubs his sparse beard, hands tight with tension. He bites the heel of his hand, thinking for a second. “Did you ever really love me?” he chokes out, muffled in his hand.

 

“I’ve always loved you, Tyler, just not in the way you deserved. I’ve been in love with Jonny longer than you can imagine, though. You got messed up because I wasn’t clear, and that wasn’t fair. But I do love you, Tyler, and always will, but only as a friend.”

 

He finally gets the strength in his arms to push himself up, staring down at Patrick. Tyler digs in his pocket and pulls out the box. He tosses it gently in Patrick’s lap. “Have a good fucking life,” he mutters, watching Patrick open it.

 

The flashes of gold glitters in Patrick’s eyes as he pulls out the small cufflinks. Patrick laughs a little when he realizes that they’re miniature hockey pucks. “My initials…” he says, inspecting them closely. “Where did you even find something like this?” Tyler looks away when Patrick notices the Swiss flag stamped inside the box. There’s no denying when and where he got them. “Tyler…”

 

“I’ve had them a while,” Tyler shrugs, letting Patrick’s look roll off him like a windshield. “Was going to give them to you six months in, but we never got that long.

 

Setting them on the floor, Patrick pushes himself off and closes in on him. Tyler can’t think of anywhere he’d want to be any less. “You’re not going to tell Jonny. You love me too much to hurt me like that.”

 

His voice is snide without real rhyme or reason as Tyler spits, “What makes you think I won’t?”

 

“You decided not to tell Jonny the moment you walked through that door. If you wanted to tell him, you wouldn’t have me first.”

 

Patrick’s right. And Tyler _hates_ that he’s right. He hates that Patrick can read him like a book and knows exactly what he’s thinking. “I’m going to tell him. Have a happy marriage, Kaner,” he spits again, though his anger was slowly leaking out of his body.

 

He’s about to turn around and storm out when Patrick grabs his sleeve and holds on, pulling into a tight hug. Tyler’s completely enveloped and feels like a caged wolf. His hands are on Patrick’s chest, ready to shove and make a run for it when Patrick’s hand and holds the back of his neck, hair lacing in between his fingers. Tyler feels both trapped and like he’s finally free.

 

Tyler closes his eyes and shudders a bit when Patrick kisses him gently on the cheek, whispering, “I’m sorry, Ty…” And then he’s released, left on his own as Patrick turns from him to carefully put the cufflinks in.

 

That was the first time Patrick had actually said, “I’m sorry,” to him since Switzerland and, somehow, it didn’t help. Maybe he didn’t actually need it, just needed to hear the words.

 

Tyler backs slowly out of the room, shutting the door silently. He begins his journey back down the hallway to the main ceremony hall. He freezes when he abruptly bumps straight into Jonathan.

 

He’s so stunned that all he can do is stand there, open mouthed, as Jonathan shouts, “Segs!” and bear hugs him. Tyler’s breath is crushed out of his body as Jonathan picks him up and spins him around, laughing giddily. “I’m so glad you could make it! Patrick and I had been hoping you could! Everything’s perfect now!”

 

Jonathan sets him down and Tyler can see the pure bliss and joy in his eyes, radiating from every part of his body. And, while Tyler wants nothing more to destroy Patrick, he can’t destroy this. So he forces a smile and says, “Congrats, Jonny. I’m happy for you. Good luck on getting married.”

 

Jonathan runs a hand incredulously through his hair and looks at Tyler, saying disbelievingly, “Thank you so much. I gotta run, but thank you, Tyler. I’ll catch you later!” Without another word, he takes off back down the hall.

 

Any notion he may have had of staying was gone. he knows he can’t stay through the vows, let alone the “I do”s. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, fingers curling around his wallet, and heads out of the building. he looks out of Place at the airport, suit and no luggage, but he’s stopped caring. Chicago was over. It was done.

 

Tyler grabs the first cab he can to take him downtown. He may be overdressed but, fuck it, he needs a drink. He tells the driver to pull over in front of some seedy looking pub and tips the guy at least $20.

 

The music is loud and it’s musty as hell, but at least it’s dark, which is the only thing he needs. Tyler leans over the bar and waits for the bartender to come back around. “Can I get a beer?”

 

“What kind, bud?”

 

“Doesn’t matter. Surprise me.”

 

The bartender shrugs and pours him something on tap. Tyler hands him his card to keep an open tab. As he’s handed his beer and turns around, he bumps head on into someone. The grey button up the man’s wearing is completely covered in liquid. Tyler stands there, face falling when he realizes he’s spilled about half his beer over the other man. “Shit, I’m sorry!” he shouts, setting what’s left in his glass on the bar.

 

The other man raises a dark eyebrow at him, brushing foam off his shirt. “Oh no,” he says, “totally my fault. Just glad it wasn’t your nice suit.” He eyes Tyler up and down for a second. “What'd you do, get married or something?”

 

Tyler’s face falls a little. “No, but the person I loved just did.”

The man’s eyes widen a little, realizing the situation he’s unexpectedly gotten himself into. “Shit, I’m sorry. Do you wanna talk about it?” He holds out his hand. “I’m Jamie. Jamie Benn. Buy me a drink and I’ll listen to your story of lost love.”

 

Tyler shakes his hand, saying, “Nice to meet you, Jamie. My name’s Tyler. And if you want to hear it, we’ll probably need something stronger. Is whiskey okay?” Jamie nods and goes to scope out a table. Tyler returns with a pitcher of beer, a bottle of Tangle Ridge, and a few glasses.

 

Jamie laughs when he sees the whiskey. “Canadian, eh? You from there as well? My family’s from Victoria.” he says, pouring a glass. He pours one for Tyler as he nestles into the seat next to him.

 

“Yeah, Brampton. I came down to play hockey,” he mutters, glad that the corner Jamie had picked out was relatively quiet.

 

A look of realization spreads across Jamie’s face as he leans in incredulously, saying, “ _Now_ I know who you are. I’m surprised I didn’t recognize you before. Seguin, right? You play for the Stars.” He stops when the sees the mildly annoyed look on Tyler’s face. “Shit, sorry. Just a big hockey fan. If you don’t want to talk about whatever it is you’re sad about, that’s fine.”

 

Tyler leans forward, studying Jamie carefully. He takes in the wide smile and the even wider, dark, eyes that showed a great deal of empathy. And not just the fake kind that most fans seemed to show him. Jamie actually wanted to know what was going on, even before he knew who Tyler was. He takes a big gulp of whiskey before asking, “Can you keep a secret?”

 

Jamie smiles at him, saying, “I love hearing secrets, but I love keeping them even more.”

 

Tyler sighs and begins his story, trying to leave as many names out as possible. He starts at the beginning and goes through his plane ride home. He tells of the late night phone call and the abrupt disappearance in Switzerland. He leaves out no detail and realizes how much the series of events truly sucked for him.

 

Jamie finishes his second beer off and says, “That’s fucked up. You deserve better than that. Nobody should be told they aren’t wanted.”

 

Tyler looks at him suspiciously. “You’ve just met me. How do you know what I deserve?”

 

Leaning forward to put him in a more private conversation, Jamie says, “I could’ve known you for 30 seconds and still have known you deserve better.” A stray piece of hair falls over his forehead and Tyler has to restrain himself from pushing it back out of the way. “But you’re right, Tyler. I’ve just met you. But I’d like to get to know you better if you’ll let me.”

 

They spend the next five hours talking about everything from growing up in Canada, to the pros and cons of having siblings, to hockey (turned out Jamie played as well), to live here in Dallas. “Must be completely different than Boston, huh?” Jamie asks, sipping on the water he opted for about an hour ago.

 

Tyler shrugs a bit, vision swimming. “It was kind of weird being around people who pretend to like you for the cameras, but want you hundreds of miles away from them. It’s nice to finally have a home here.”

 

The lights go up with the bartender calling, “Last call!”

 

Tyler looks blearily around at the nearly empty bottle of whiskey and the long empty pitcher. “Man,” he slurs, “can’t believe it’s been 5 hours already.”

 

“Want me to drive you home?”

 

Tyler looks up at Jamie’s smile and feels his cheeks heat up. He nods and lets Jamie help him close his tab. Jamie’s heartbeat is strong and thumping, completely different than the softly erratic muscle in his own chest. “You smell good,” he says, Jamie’s arms nearly holding him up.

 

Jamie laughs, soft and rumbling. “Thanks, let’s get you home, Tyler.”

 

He’s grateful for the big seats of Jamie’s SUV as he curls up, laying his head on the center console. Jamie’s hand is on his shoulder, thumb running over the seam of his shirt. His suit jacket lay in the backseat, abandoned long ago. Tyler watches the city lights blur by as he murmurs out directions to his house.

 

“I hope you found what you were looking for.” He startles a bit when he hears Jamie’s voice echo in the car. Rotating to look up at Jamie, Tyler’s pretty sure he knows what he’s talking about.

 

As he studies the way the light plays over Jamie’s face, he thinks back to the past 6 hours. The happenstance meeting, the story of heartbreak, the bonding, the laughs, the feeling of belonging, and, most importantly, the connection. He had forgotten what it was like to be cared about that it almost seemed like none of this was real. Tyler nudges Jamie’s arm with his forehead and says, “Pretty sure I did.”

 

They pull up in front of Tyler’s house and he manages to sit up as Jamie whispers, “Wow…” He’s got a hand on the handle and is about to open the door when Jamie says, “I had fun tonight. Glad I met you.”

 

He’s not really sure what to say so all he can do is smile and get out of the car. Tyler’s just about to shut it when he knows he can’t make this mistake again. He can’t be Patrick and leave without another word. He leans back into the car. “Jamie-“

 

But Jamie clearly has other ideas. Before Tyler knows it, his tie is gripped tight in Jamie’s hand and he’s pulled into a hard, warm kiss. He holds himself steady, one hand on Jamie’s neck as he kisses back. It feels like eternity before he’s released, Jamie’s hand tucking something in his pocket. He pulls out a small piece of paper with a phone number written on it.

 

“Call me sometime okay? I don’t want you getting away.”

 

“Should I call you or should I just get back into the car?” Tyler asks, a small smirk flitting across his face.

 

Even in the dark, he can see Jamie’s eyes dilate. Jamie pauses a second before saying, “Trust me, there’s nothing more I’d like more than to take you home and fuck your brains out…” He lets go of Tyler’s tie. “But I want you to want me when you’re sober and not sad. Like I said, call me.”

 

Tyler’s head is spinning as he says, “Don’t worry, I will,” and begins the long walk up to his door. It takes him a minute to manage to get his door open, but Jamie waits patiently until he gets inside. He pushes the door closed with a small thud and sits down as he hears the SUV rumble away.

 

He knows he should crawl into bed now, worry about everything else later, but he has to do one thing first. Tyler pulls out his phone and smoothes out the piece of paper still clenched in his fist. He types the number carefully into his phone and hits ‘Save’. Jamie Benn. There he was. Tyler sets an alarm for noon tomorrow, saved under, “Call Jamie,” and stumbles back into bed.

 

He’ll worry about his jacket, still in Jamie’s SUV, tomorrow.

 


End file.
